"Sacrificial magic requires blood on the altar." ~ Chuck Wendig

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Mosquito Gun – Part II…err III

All –

Mos-Gun III is up. If you’re not sure what it is, this is my short story done in 200-word increments with others who are in the make-a-200-word-story-in-200-word-story club. AnyWHO, Part II was proffered by my good man, PaulfNY (signaled by the aster*sk) Rock on, brother. To the rest of you, have at it.

LP

___

Mosquitoes suck. Fact. I’m not just talking about their physical abilities, but more of how, well, how sucky they are. I cannot stand the little flying dicks. But I can’t be the only one who feels this way. In fact, I’m going to make sure that I’m not the only one who feels this way. Because as much as I hate mosquitoes, I hate large groups of people even more. That’s why the mosquito gun is the perfect invention, and I promise, the one I have in the basement is the only one around.

The concept is pretty simple. I’m using something I hate to piss off another something I hate. In this way I can have two things that I hate hating each other at the same time, thereby bringing me joy.

The process itself has taken me long enough – a few years at least; I don’t know, really. I lost count. But I’ve basically just collected a shit-ton of mosquitoes, frozen them and threw them all into this huge vat. Then I load them all up into these tubes, full, I mean chock full – almost like a European mosquito soccer match. They’re all pinned in there, trying to fly around. All they want is to get out. They’re pissed – just how I want them.

*So, I’m out on the street now, and I’m ready to start using my gun.

My first target wobbles into view. It’s that fat obnoxious prick that manages the local supermarket. I’ve had more than a few run-ins with him. Payback time, now. I level my Mos-Gun and let rip. One fat mosquito squeezes out of the barrel and goes racing towards him. He bats it away at first, but it turns out that thing is pissed!

It zips up and down, darts in and out and pretty soon, blood is seeping from hundreds of little bites and the fat prick is screaming. I feel an excited tightness in my chest and squeeze off more rounds. They surround him in a cloud and soon, his body slumps to the ground.

Fuck me, it works! I wander down the street, indiscriminately loosing more and more mosquitoes at my enemies. People run screaming, banging into walls, cars, falling over in the street…it’s wonderful.

Then, on the horizon, a figure appears, the sun at his back. He pauses on the horizon, his fingers twitching over something at his side. My stomach drops as I realise it’s a huge can of RAID.

**I can see some sick smoke steaming off of shoulders of this no-named vigilante’s silhouette. I feel myself take a deep breath. How is that I’ve created the perfect weapon only to be knocked out cold this early in the game? But I don’t have the luxury to take my time with choices. The man’s on the hill has spotted me and has leapt in to a dash toward me. Fuck.

Now what?

The goofs I left on the pavement in my own concocted swarms of mosquito-army syrup are starting to stir and get back up. Their moans will soon turn into curses and flying fists. Not good. Time to leave.

Well, if he wants me, he’s gonna have to work at it. I wait for him to close in within reach before I pump out the last few hundred frenzied mosquito drills into the air around him. This slows him, and it’s just the time I need. He’s procured a hidden can of RAID and holds a constant spray, spinning, trying to hit them all and catch me at the same time. But my little blood-sucking buzzard battalion take as many hits as they can before they go down.